"hookers" poems
*****
I like ***** I like ****
before you touch, you must get permits.
Nothing like a nice pair of assets,
oh how puppies make nice pets.
Bazongas are ***** that are large,
strippers and hookers, will always charge.
Nothing like the perfect *****
but only on the perfect woman.
******* are yummy dark or white,
but first you must wait for an invite.
Some girls even have a third ******
do not squeeze says Mr. Whipple.
I don't mind girls on the itty, bitty, ***** committee,
on a carpenters dream, I show no pity.
They could be called a bust, some call them cans,
a woman's squeeze box, all men are fans.
Chesticles is a term I have never heard,
but everyday, I learn a new word.
I like cones, I like jugs,
girls with big ones, I give hugs.
Al Bundy loved calling them *******
at the restaurant, I wish I was one of the recruiters.
A girl with a nice set of knockers,
might find herself with unwanted stalkers.
Fergie sang about her lovely lady lumps,
a good set of melons, still give me goose bumps.
***** always come in a pair,
why do bra's, they have to wear.
Even men who smoke lots of crack,
still can appreciate a good sized rack.
I don't care if there fake or real.
in a crowded room, I always cop a feel.
Girls love showing off some cleavage,
I wish I lived in a ***** village.
Babies need breast milk to make them stronger,
if the mom is hot, they may do it longer.
In conclusion, I love *****
with whipped cream or melting ice cubes.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Ruddy's was the place to be on Wednesday nights, cheap drinks, free hotdogs and the graceful presence of Times Square hookers late at night, what a wonderful scene, marines hookers and the best jazz juke box inn manhattan, rowdy and something almost always happened, better than life. I was a young man in a strange country, had my fists tested in FLA and Brooklyn for stupid prejudices on my behalf and others, words hurt only those who do not know their meaning and root. There was a black man sitting next to me, quiet and still, a true barfly, he turned and said;
- you are not from round here-
- no - I said -I am from Mexico -
- you don't look Mexican, but let's go with it, I don't look African American either-
- r you from the south?-
-Georgia, as they call it -
-well, I've worked in FLA and met some rednecks, Cubans, blacks, but almost no Chinese-
-you mean yellow-
-or *******
- or **** you know men, I prefer racism down south, over there the distinction is cut loose clear, we don't like each other, but here, men I tell you, you wannanother beer?-
-sure men-
-Girls just wanna **** you cause I'm black, you know, to be cool and ****
-yeah, Jewish girls wanna **** white Gentiles, different reasons same goal-
-I hear you, here it's all about being fashionable, but deep in the pit it's all fake as a 10 dollar coin-
We kept at it until Beth started a fight with another ****** they were calling each other **** I've never heard.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I sleep with my glasses,
so, I can see in my dreams
the moment you left me,
it's all part of the scene.
So, the jockeys, they need me.
I know they will bleed me.
And it's 2 dollars on the
6 horse to show.
The buzzards and seagulls,
they know what you've done.
You said, come on boy,
let's go have some fun.
But that look in your eyes
was full of goodbyes
and now, I'm all but done.
I'm full of regrets
but, it's just one more bet.
And it's 2 dollars on the
6 horse to show.
The clowns and the hookers
got nothing for me.
They took all my money,
oh boy can't you see?
There's just one more bet,
and I'm full of regrets.
and it's 2 dollars on the
6 horse to show.
Bukowski and Hopper
look down on me smiling.
They've been out to sea.
They've been past the islands.
I'm tired of running
and I'm tired of standing still.
Another pill won't do it
and it's time for me to go.
And it's 2 dollars on the
6 horse to show.
You took all my money
on a day that was sunny
and you know them old clowns,
they really aren't funny.
So, I head to the track
to win it all back,
and it's 2 dollars on the
6 horse to show.
Aug 23, 2023
Aug 23, 2023 at 7:32 PM UTC
The hair is almost normalized,
The hands we hardly notice,
Real news is, with my ensemble,
A red tie splashes well.
I bear your false witness,
The hookers and the lies,
I'd get the heebie-jeebies,
If I ****** with the FBI.
But the skin, the skin,
What color's that,
That hides the blackness found within.
That wraps a frame that wracks the sane,
And covers a skull with dubious brains.
It conceals the bloated air,
From lungs to lips,
From bowels to his finger tips.
It doesn't matter how his fits,
It can't conceal he's full of ****
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Who's comb-over looks like *****
Donald's comb-over looks like *****
Who scared us shitless election night?
Donald scared us shitless election night.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump
Who's got a tie that's long and red?
The Don has a tie that's long and red?
Who pays hookers to **** on beds?
The Don pays hookers to **** on beds.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got hands tiny and slight?
The Don has hands tiny and slight.
Who spews lies out day and night?
The Don spews lies out day and night.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got a vocab small and trite?
The Don has a vocab small and trite.
Who whines Fake News out of spite?
The Don whines Fake News out of spite.
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD?
The Don likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD.
Who likes a spanking when he's bad?
The Don likes a spanking when he's bad.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
How many minions leave today?
So many so far went their way.
Comey, Priebus, Flynn and Bannon,
Tillerson, Spicer, Hope and Ryan.
Leave today. Gone their way.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
Speaking of how
these Ladies of the Night
must hate Daylight Savings Time
since the sun doesn’t set until nine, and
the cloying summer scent of honeysuckle
drowns the smell of their knock-off Gucci Guilty.
Except there’s that one A.M. Pro
who works the whole stretch in front of
The Towing and Recovery Museum
from 7 something till lunch.
She’s tried to keep a low profile, but
is hoping to meet that one lonesome soul
who needs to get blown
at ten o’clock in the ******* morning.
Sometimes I wave at her when I drive by,
wishing her the best,
whatever that may look like...
The fasten seatbelt warning light is flashing on my dashboard but
I’m buckled in, rest assured.
That’s probably important, but
it’s like what Don Q whispered to Sancho through the Spanish gloom:
“I need you.”
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
She wanted to fly away
She felt she was not free
He always had his way
He took his mistress to the sea
She felt the urge to leave
She never had the guts
He never had some time
He was a very violent man
She accepted all of his flaws
He thought he had no flaws
She never left the house
He would not let her anyway
He said he loved her before ***
She thought she loved him too
She knew of all his ways
He payed for hookers anyway
She knew nothing was ok
He always had his way
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Imagine all the things I could have been
And all the places I could have seen
I should have married that girl
From Bethnal Green
A beauty queen
So serene
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
Imagine all the books I could have read
All those words now left unsaid
I went out and got ****** instead
Fell down the stairs and broke my leg
10 pints and I’m ready for bed
The day alcohol ruined my life
Mad for it Mondays
Two for one Tuesdays
Wet your whistle Wednesdays
Thirsty Thursdays
Back on the razz on Friday
Just some of the days
Alcohol ruined my life
I could have been professional footballer
One of the greats
And the League’s top scorer
Up there with Bobby Zamora
Sponsored by Adidas and Diadora
Scored an overhead kick
From a ******* corner
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
I should have been a movie star
Champagne and caviar
Me and Arnie in the Terminator
Sunset strip and the boulevard
******* hookers and fast cars
Enough money to fly to Mars
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
The day alcohol ruined my life
I lost my kids
And lost my wife
I woke up in East Fife
On the day
Alcohol ruined my life
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
My body was found in an autochthonous cranny stinking of death,
between the hookers legs; burned
with a magnesium flash- of the bulb popping.
It illuminates mere shapes
resembling humans only remotely;
the way a copse of bracken burnt conifers' resemble matchsticks.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
Who's comb-over looks like *****
Donald's comb-over looks like *****
Who's scared shiteless on election night?
Donald's scared shitless on election night.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump
Who's got a tie that's long and red?
The Don has a tie that's long and red?
Who pays hookers to *** on beds?
The Don pays hookers to *** on beds.
*** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got hands tiny and slight?
The Don has hands tiny and slight.
Who spews lies out day and night?
The Don spews lies out day and night.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who's got a vocab small and trite?
The Don has a vocab small and trite.
Who whines Fake News out of spite?
The Don whines Fake News out of spite.
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Who likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD?
The Don likes tweeting SAD SAD SAD.
Who likes a spanking when he's bad?
The Don likes a spanking when he's bad.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
How many minions leave today?
So many so far went their way.
Comey, Priebus, Flynn and Bannon,
Tillerson, Spicer, Hope and Ryan.
Leave today. Gone their way.
Bad, bad, bad, SAD SAD SAD,
Small and trite. Out of spite.
Day and night. Tiny and slight.
**** on beds. Long and red.
Election night. Looks like *****
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald.
Must be Donald, Donald Trump.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Life was amazing. Boats will fly causing mass transportation. Sometimes I think exclusively until I erupt through word Bothered, enlightened, and hungry watching gay cinema eating bananas but not ripe until next time I hate myself for liking weird cinema, Striking matches without touching myself when hearing groans from my basement which come apart from the throat. Knocks, bangs, and poottitangs among our findings in timely minute fashion. The weather will forever be surpising under a burnt out hookers muffintop. Mashed feces under but over kinfolk of a studious wellbeing transcendence, stupendous sacred.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
It’s about the American dream
To make more than you need
Through corporate greed
And pyramid schemes,
So I guess I’m not asleep
Since I eat rice and beans
In a crummy C.F.
Apartment,
Or what’s left of that
Ten by ten compartment
I can barely afford,
Like the ******
Degree that was supposed
To reward my hard effort
By leading me toward
A corner office
Or something
Like that
I should desire,
But **** it,
Let’s get higher,
I’m getting bored,
And my heart is heavy,
And I’ve been
Forsaken
By the country that
Bred me
Yet expects me
To slap on some flak
And attack
Fathers and sons and brothers
In Iraq
Over nothing
But ideological
Fluff
And political stuffing,
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s just not worth
The time or frustration
To engage in
This nation’s
Procreation
Of condemnation
Of logical reason,
Though reasoning
Lies not in the
Eye of the reasoner
Or that of the reasoned,
It’s gotta be easier
Than achieving
Appeasement
Through please
And leasing
Thank yous
To random
Strangers,
But if
You believe
They, like you,
Are human
Then the danger
Is fleeting,
Cuz they’re feeling
The same feelings,
The sane feelings of
The chronically
Sure,
The always right,
Everything in its
Right place,
Yea I know Tommy,
I must endure
And try to say
I should try to save
The knaves,
But life’s so easy
As a slave,
You buy your
Goods
And pave the way
For impoverished hoods
And hoodwinked
Majorities
Who’ve already
Made
The sacrifices
Necessary
For the necessary
To get paid,
Hope you did some good
With that bogus bonus
Mr. Suit and tie
And perfect life
With the plastic wife
And bank account
You’ll never drain,
No matter how many
Times you make it rain
On upscale hookers,
It runs too deep
To keep all to your
Selfish selves,
But I guess it’s our
Faults we don’t wear
The leadership caps
Cuz we should’ve pulled
Ourselves up by our
******* boot straps
And made something of
Ourselves, right?
Those that deserve
To make the big bucks
Make it happen, right?
Time for the forgotten *****
to put up a fight.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
Dear Ms. Di Prima,
I really,
Really,
Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE
Is a
Nifty
Topic.
But,
My mother has a ring
Of gold.
Standard Gold,
No lead. None.
Or had,
Until our house was
B-R-O / K-E / N
Into
By some lowlife scumbag with
Too much ability
And
Not enough intelligence.
With Alchemy
I could make a shitload
Of Gold (wasn't that the point?),
Provided I had the
Lead,
And not that
IMPOSTER
Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.).
But it's only valuable
Because
We're willing to pay so much.
Like with Diamonds.
Or Japanese Akita.
Or Wagyū.
It's not a lie.
Just a trick.
Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way
(HOOKERS AND BLOW).
All of these things are synthetic.
With the exceptions of
Gold
And
Graphite.
So,
Maybe,
Alchemy did work out alright,
Just not in the anticipated way.
We can make all sorts of things.
But they become coveted only when they exist.
Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers.
It actually wasn't gold.
You just got a bunch of painted junk,
And passports.
No rubies.
We weren't international crooks,
Renowned and beloved
By jealous zealots.
It was purely sentimental.
But you can't understand.
You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent.
You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country.
You ****** You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college.
No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery.
But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist
Because his brain is still in his head.
We create people as well as objects.
Ms. Di Prima,
In the end,
Some people will always be
Clasping ********
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
time runs backwards
what is fast is deemed slow i motion situs
mon river flow
out of notion soul
and into the empty pools
so shalt the water rise
deserts no more
but ponds o hexagonal 5 pouted stars
as universes collide
other must die
there is no choice but freedoms reins
ring those bells
the chichi tolls
on sacred soil they were built
and energetic pathways meet at meeting points no less
are the beggars than the high class hookers ( thieves)
smokes
from the cattiplliers lips are but clouds on distant horizons
jasmine juice
electronic sitar
to the waning moon glow
dip
hose
MUTHfuckin sails mate
where is the *** in my tummy tum tum
note please:
he french resistance
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
I won't depend
On hashtag trends,
On free lending,
Or poems trending,
Or coupons for hookers vending.
I won't depend
On society blending,
Or relations mending
On wending paths of truth.
Then we're sending rockets,
Bending rules for Rulers,
Tending obsequious flocks of sheep.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
It's holidays hamsters haven't you herd.
From all that annoying *** music and commercials done by sellout artist
trying to be cool word.
I myself would rather spend this month in a holiday coma.
Buy some cheap hookers some good whiskey and run over a black Friday crowd
in a stolen Sonoma .
It's give me give me and that's just from dad.
He'll break the bank and mommy will give him something the other
night his brother already had.
Maybe I should plant a minefield upon my lawn.
To ward off carolers who only make me yawn.
I'll poison my cookies and sit back and wait.
Rob the old fat man and take Miss Santa out on a much deserved date.
Make your list and he will check twice.
After I blow his *** to pieces it really wont matter if your naughty or nice.
The holidays are a time for people to act insane over **** they do not need.
There addicts of want the stores are nothing more than dealers
selling coke crank and ****
Maybe you love the lights and the holiday rush with the family and all.
Well you can eat **** and jingle my ball.
I hope to stay on the naughty list as long as I'm alive.
Sincerely from Gonzo.
Shut the **** up and stop acting worse than a child who's five.
Don't send me a card cause I wont reply.
Here's your present it's a bomb now please die.
I hate the holidays call me a Grinch if you like.
**** you Santa all I asked for was a brick of ******* ,ten cases of whiskey, a key to the ******* mansion , a lifetime pass to the chicken ranch , A million dollars in unmarked bills ,
My neighbors dead ,And Harley Davison Motor bike.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
12 a.m. November 1, 2014
starry night, ticking clock
nothing's changed really!!
the hookers are helping desperate men find love
One ***** at a time
making money
a man jumps off a bridge
**** life right?
Lonely ******* jerking off
while a beautiful young **** makes love
a mother's breastfeeding her baby
who's gonna grow up to end human race
while i sit on my chair
reading Bukowski
"there are times when insanity becomes so real that it isn't insanity anymore"
I guess I am no different!!
(11/01/2014 Kathmandu, Nepal)
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
#NoMakeUp
Chic lookin' like death,
with her dyed platinum blond hair,
her fake silicone **** and all that make up,
over dressed like Halloween **** girl I'm scared,
the less you wear,
the less impressed I am,
you get dressed up just to get messed up,
smoke a cigarette then get your teeth whitened,
you get done up glam,
just to get run up in,
when,
in the world was it ever okay,
to,
disrespect yourself that way?
Getting fckt by strangers,
without getting money or commitments,
that means you're like a **********
a ********** that's not even good at business,
you're a despicable disgrace,
to the entire female race,
you wear all that cover-up,
because you've got Krocodil face,
that's Krocodil with a 'K',
better get it straight,
the kind from Russia,
that will eat your face,
eat your whole face off,
face it,
the facts are basic,
real women look way better without any fake make-up.
The only reason you need it,
is because you don't see this,
plus you fill your stomach,
with fast food *****
you're going down in flames,
what was your name Halley Comet?
Saving money on food,
so you can buy cosmetics,
maybe if you changed your diet,
you wouldn't need cosmetics,
there's nothing romantic,
about cosmetics,
cosmetics cause cancer,
don't you get it?
More vegetables,
less processed cheese,
and your face won't look,
like it's got a disease,
please,
remember these words,
real women look better without any make-up,
without all those name brands we're all naked,
believe whatever you want to,
but these words will still be true...
So stop dying,
your hair to death,
and trying,
to get the guys to stare at your breast,
you are,
so much more beautiful naturally,
and if you,
go natural well actually,
you might find,
a man who loves your mind,
a man that truly loves you,
for who you are inside.
and I promise this,
in all honestness,
no man will ever fall in love,
with a woman because of the size of her breast,
or the color of her hair,
or the brand of her dress,
no real man will ever really care,
whether your outfit is Versace or Guess,
because good men care about the real you,
not fake fashion brand names,
you are not a cow nor are you cattle,
so why would you want a label branding?
And I promise this,
in all honestness,
that this is,
honest honestness.
Real men fall in love with real women,
because of who they really are,
not who they pretend to be,
real men fall in love with real women,
because they love her soul's avatar,
and her divine femininity…
So let your hair grow,
back out to it's natural color,
if you honestly want,
to find a natural lover,
and save your self,
for those special lovers,
that are truly deserving,
of all of your natural wonders,
leave the fake hair,
for the fakers,
leave the toners,
for the loners,
leave the make up and fake dyes,
for the hookers and transvestites,
you,
are beautiful,
without,
the manicured cuticles,
you are beautiful,
just the way you naturally are,
there's no need to alter yourself,
with some silicone and scars.
Just be beautiful Beautiful,
there is no need to pretend,
and leave the makeup and fake body parts,
for the trannies and mannequins... ∆
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Thorns in the hearts of millions and fear in the minds of billions.
Heard across the whispers of machines, spoken to the minds of onlookers.
Entrances carved into the souls of children by myriad opinions.
Young ones engraved with a memory, reared to despise terror as one would hookers.
Advance the agenda. Propaganda distributed; phones, theaters, televisions alight.
Losing our souls to the terror, we huddle in our whining and dining rooms.
Lips loose and battering what we don't understand, they're the terrors! Don't you understand?
Destitute is reason in the fanatics worlds away, yet in our very homes.
Encouraged to make poor our own empathy, as we seek them out.
Solace lost on our tongues we devour them, mercy removed from our bones.
Everyone knows we have to get them first, right? Right. There's no other route.
Right is confused with fear. They've made us just like them. Just like them.
Vie for change! Do it all you want, but you can't change them, not with sinful might...
Entrance them with modernity, educate them, sequester them, it's a farce, a problem.
Aren't we the beasts? Shooting missiles from a, "Wicked City," televisions alight.
Grand mess we've made, hypocrisy ten miles high, sin ten miles deep.
Right. Where were we? Who shot last? Compare past to past, continue the fight.
Already we're planning, where to strike next? Whack the hive, make 'em weep.
Vanishing like shadows in all-encompassing light the terrors disappear.
"'Enraging us again,' coming soon!" the sequel should be good next year.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
***** stories make front pages,
Massacres and killings,
Mayhem and ****** ,
A mad man is dealing,
This masked man antics
Is masking the city ,
The mind behind the gore
Is on 30th floor,
In a dormitory with no door,
Only a window,
With which
The nocturnal tenant tends to
Look over.
Watching
The overnight onlookers
Night walkers,
Alley cats,
Insomniacs,
And boulevard hookers..."
"....My eyes lay
On a prominent, candidate
For cannibalistic practices,
My dominant traits
Widows peak,
Vampirical feats,
Long, hollow teeth,
With massive molars,
Used to chewing meat,
Which sit beside my
Sharp Canines.
But my sizable incisors
Scissor inside the side of my
Silent victim
Select venom in him
Bereft of vocalism
Vocal cords torn
I violently vanquish
His speech.
He’s paralyzed from his
Neck to his feet
I throw him over
My shoulder,
Escape the obscene scene
Before I am seen..."
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
Classic bier pose: eyes closed, arms folded over chest, everything aligned perfectly.
Peaceful, opposite of the turmoil in everyone around you.
You never did think about others at all.
In the flames I can see your body still.
Peaceful pose: gone.
Now: contortionist.
Eight-year-old Chinese gymnast,
perfect 10 I’d say, but perhaps I’m biased.
Over there the judge says 7.99;
stingy, just call it 8 even (or put the taxes in the **** score).
I think it was the stress of the audit.
That’s why your wife left,
the audit. And the hookers, you ***** *******
I’d **** on your pyre,
but all the alcohol would catch it on fire
and send it racing up to light ME,
instead of one of your nasty cigarettes.
Tax evasion, lying
(eight, count ‘em, eight dependents:
birds #s 1, 2, 3 (bird feeder pays for itself this way, don’t it?),
chipmunk, dog, the mouse in the cellar,
bird number 4 (only in the summer, not domesticated),
even the random fox), you name it.
How did you run that for so long?
Hero’s funeral, the great pyre, a pile of ashes.
Something a chimney sweep would leave,
and about as important. Did they ever find
cause of death—the wife?
Good, I helped her.
She needed a shoulder to cry on after you died,
and you sure as hell weren’t there (typical).
A pile of ashes,
ashes to ashes, etc., n’est-ce pas?
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
Gazing at the window pane,
I see a road with 8 lanes. .
I live near an international airport,
Also not much far from the court.
The roads are always full with life,
and is visible a life taking another life..
A kidnapping here, A **** there..
Dress properly, to do none would dare...
Take away the right to wear frocks, from a girl under ten
Toned legs are arousing, and legs 're visible in them..
Take away a girls right to walk alone in streets,
When on a public property, as a public property people shall treat
Nobody spares you here...
Strangers,
Teachers,
Uncles,
brothers,
Step fathers
And even fathers!
Nobody understands love here, Everything is love making.
A girl in pain, 'cause of rod which in her body is shaking.
We have murderers,
We have ISIS agents,
We have corrupt officials,
We have suiciding peasants...
We have kidnappers,
We have hackers,
We have looters,
We also have sharp shooters,
We also have all age hookers...
Come, see my city,
And then on it, do pity..
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
The penguins march
On a stretch of snowy starch
Ignoring the onlookers
But wolf whistling among the crowd, the hookers
The sounds clearly getting louder
Is that... is that gun powder?
Gouging out the eyes to block out the sight
Is definitely not the answer to your plight
The confetti flies upwards and away
To turn into a malleable *** of clay
Juggling the yard of goat string cheese
More after this message? Yes please!
Longing on the thought of belonging
As our not so miserable existence we seem to be prolonging
Your thoughts, i wish to sway
With my words, let me take you away
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC